


The Man-Date

by orphan_account



Series: It's A Good Thing We're Pretty... [1]
Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denny calls it a date. Kasey isn't really sure if he's serious or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man-Date

**Author's Note:**

> Original note from April 27, 2010: So Denny and Kasey went to the Bobcats game together last night. This is dedicated to my Twitter girls, because we all got to joking about the boys on their man-date... and of course, my brain couldn't just leave it there.

Monday afternoon, I'm lazing around, watching SportsCenter and eating homemade chocolate chip cookies directly out of a Tupperware bowl Mom brought over earlier. Yes, I'm thirty years old, and my mother brings me homemade cookies. There's spaghetti in the fridge as well. From somewhere underneath me on the couch my phone beeps, signaling that I have a text message. I pull it out, and it's from someone I haven't talked to in a while. Someone I used to spend a lot of time with, but haven't really hung out with lately. I read the message. _Busy tonight?_

Well, honestly, no, I'm not. I don't have any plans at all, other than laying around on the couch. I shrug, and send one back. _Nope. Why? You wanna take me on a date?_

I almost erase it, then smirk and hit send before I can take it back. In less than a minute, the phone beeps and I look at his reply: _Something like that._

Okay, now I'm curious. _Something like that?_ I send back, throwing his words back at him.

My phone beeps again, almost instantly. _Yeah. You in?_ and I can practically hear him mocking me.

 _Depends on what it is I'm in for,_ I send back.

_Bobcats. Extra seat. Come?_

And since it might be the last game of the season, I figure why the hell not. _I'm in_ , I send back.

He sends one back, much too quickly, almost like he knew I was going to say yes, saying he'll pick me up at 6:45. I look at it, shrug, and go back to my cookies.

At 6:30, I wander into my closet, still a little damp from the shower. I grab a pair of jeans and slide them on. I really should do some laundry, or just go buy some new boxers, but for tonight, commando will just have to do. I grab the first plain grey t-shirt I come across, and put it on, then grab a nondescript baseball cap and put it on as well, pulling it down low over my eyes. You would think I'd be able to go out in Charlotte without having anyone stop me and want a picture or an autograph, but no. I've discovered, though, that it's a little easier if I just wear a hat, keep my eyes down on the ground, and ignore anyone who might yell out my name. I grab one of what must be a hundred pairs of Pumas, and put them on, and by 6:40, I'm sitting outside on the doorstep, waiting for him.

He pulls up in the driveway at exactly 6:45, and rolls down a tinted window, staring out at me with a big goofy smile on his face. "You look like a 12-year-old sitting on the ground like that."

I scowl, push myself up from the ground, and walk over, sliding easily into the leather seats of his company-provided Lexus. I snap the seat belt into place and give him a shit-eating grin. "You're just jealous you wouldn't be able to get off the ground without help now." I cut a quick glance at his knee, the bulge of his brace just barely visible underneath the jeans he's wearing. He notices, and his eyes follow mine as he sighs very quietly, then focuses out the windshield as he guns the engine and flies out of of driveway, leaving tire marks at the end of it.

"See you've still got a mouth on you, Kahne. Comforting to know some things don't change." That's the last he speaks to me until we pull into the parking lot at Time Warner Arena, and by the time he pockets his keys and we're walking -- okay, I'm walking, he's limping a little -- I'm starting to feel guilty for what I said.

"Hamlin," I say quietly, as we walk in, not wanting to draw any attention to myself or to him. "About earlier, I shouldn't have--"

"Don't worry about it," he cuts me off, and I follow him as he walks -- okay, limps -- purposefully towards our seats. I follow him, sit, and try again to apologize for being an ass. "Kahne?" he asks, giving me a long look.

"Yeah?" Something about the way he's looking at me makes me nervous.

"Just shut up and enjoy the date," he growls softly, eyes focused on the opening tip-off.

_Oooookay._

So I decide to take that advice, and just watch the game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The game ends, and not like we were hoping. He stands up gingerly, not putting any weight on his left leg to begin with. He stretches, then looks over at me before taking a few tentative steps, still obviously trying not to put his full weight on the leg. I try hard to not look overly concerned, knowing he doesn't want anyone making a big deal out of it, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch him wincing as he takes those first few steps. I keep my mouth shut and follow behind him as we head back to the car, letting him set the pace we walk at. It's subtle -- taking it easy on him without letting him know it, I guess. I still don't understand how he stayed in the car at Phoenix the whole race. I understand why he did it, it's just the how that escapes me. Just thinking about having knee surgery and then trying to get in the car makes me want to run and hide. I'm not sure if he's tough, or stubborn. Probably both, I think to myself as I slide into the passenger seat of his car, and watch as he straightens his leg out, grimacing. It's dark in the car, but there's a little light shining in from the parking lot, and I see the way his jaw tenses as he tries to ease his leg out straight.

"You okay?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah," he says, as he turns the key in the ignition. "It's just... hard to straighten it back out after I've been sitting with it bent. And vice versa." I nod at that like I understand, even though I really don't.

The ride back north is mostly silent. The radio's on, but it's not even loud enough to be able to distinguish what kind of music we're supposed to be listening to, much less what band. Every so often he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, and I'm not sure if he's keeping the beat with the music, or just bored. I don't ask, and I don't really know what kind of conversation to make, so I just keep quiet. Or at least I do until he takes the exit at Cornelius.

"Um, Hamlin?" I ask, confused. "I know it's been a couple hours since you picked me up, but did you forget where I live?"

He doesn't say anything; he just keeps driving, but I can see the corners of his mouth are just starting to turn up into a smile. I sink further back into my seat, wondering what I've gotten myself into. Another five minutes pass, and I start to develop a clue or two about what I'm getting into as he pulls up in front of his palatial house and stops the car in the driveway. He unbuckles his seat belt, then turns slightly in his seat so that he's facing me and leans back against the door. I unbuckle my own belt, and turn in my seat so I'm facing him.

"Have a good time tonight?" he asks, that hint of a smile from earlier reappearing. Yeah, I think to myself. I did. At least until a few minutes ago, when I went from having a good time to being severely confused. I nod slowly. It's not much of an answer, but it's really all I can manage right now.

He leans forward, coming dangerously close to invading my personal space bubble. "You seem... unsure about that," he says quietly, his eyes on mine.

I can feel panic starting to set in, can feel my heart rate start to speed up, and I know the minute I open my mouth, it's likely that I'm going to ramble a bunch of gibberish at him. "I... um... I... maybe so..." I stutter, trying to get a grip on myself.

He laughs quietly, his eyes darting from my eyes, to my lips, and back to my eyes, a silent question forming in his. I should say no. I should definitely insist that he take me home right now. Hell, I should get out of the car and start walking home. It's only 16 miles; it wouldn't be so bad. Instead, I just sit there, frozen, and I guess he takes that as me granting permission, because the next thing I know he's leaning in and his lips are pressed against mine, and they're a lot softer than I expected them to be. He doesn't push things, doesn't try to take this any faster than glacially slow. His lips move deliberately slowly over mine, gently, and I realize he has his eyes closed. I let mine close too, and let what's happening, who it's happening with, slip away from me. I feel his tongue just barely brush against my lips, and it feels good, not weird, not gross, not wrong, and I slowly, slowly let my lips part, and let him slip his tongue inside my mouth. Again, I'm surprised at how gentle his kisses are, how he's slowly exploring every part of my mouth with his tongue, and how he doesn't really seem to mind that I still seem not completely sure about all this. And I'm not sure about it at all, though it does feel good, and so I don't bother trying to stop the quiet moan that escapes from me when he gently wraps a hand around the back of my head, pulling me closer to him as he softly tugs on the hair at the nape of my neck.

When he finally pulls away from kissing me, we're both panting softly, needing air.

"Wow," he whispers, looking at me with a mix of shock and amazement. I nod, not trusting my ability to form complete sentences. It's been awhile since someone's kissed me like that. If anyone's ever actually kissed me like that, that is.

"You want to come in?" he asks, and the look on his face tells me he's afraid I'm going to say no. And I should. I really, really should. This is opening up a can of worms that neither of us need to open.

But I nod, again. And I follow him in, directly to his bedroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed and bends down, starts to untie his shoes. I stand just inside the doorway, watching silently. _What am I doing here?_ I keep asking myself that over and over. He pulls his shoes off, then his socks, and stuffs them inside the shoes before picking them up and walking -- no, limping -- slowly into the closet. When he comes back out, he's in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs, and I stare at his chest for a little longer than I intend to. No, it's not the first time I've seen him without a shirt, but it's been a while, and I don't remember him being so tan, or as cut as he is now. My gaze drops down just a little lower and I swallow hard, involuntarily, because now we're moving into dangerous territory. I quickly look back up, and then away from him, at the bed, at the lamp, at anything other than the almost-naked body in front of me, but it's too late-- I can feel my jeans get just a tiny bit tighter, and I hear a very soft laugh from the other side of the room.

My cheeks are immediately on fire, and I'm starting to reason with myself that really, walking 16 miles wouldn't be that bad. I could make it. Maybe it wouldn't even take that long if I ran.

I hear the sound of a body sliding against sheets, the sound of a mattress adjusting to the weight of the person on top of it, and I'm still trying my hardest not to look when I hear him sigh quietly.

"Kahne," he says softly, and I have to look at him. I can't keep myself from doing it. "Just chill. Nothing has to happen." He leans back against the headboard and smiles at me, patting the empty spot next to him.

I know that. I really do. I know nothing has to happen, but I already know something will.

I toss my hat on the floor and reach up behind me, grasping the neck of my shirt and pull it off, tossing it down on top of the hat. His eyes are on me the whole time, and it's a little unnerving. I feel the blush in my cheeks start to spread down my neck, to my chest. Knowing that the redness is spreading just makes me more nervous and I bite my lip, chew on it, try to give myself something else to focus on other than how nervous I am. It seems to be working until I hear a soft moan from my audience, and I can't help but look over at him, confused at how my nervousness is apparently turning him on. His green eyes meet mine, and then his drop, following his hand as it slowly traces a path down his chest and skims over the front of his boxer-briefs, pausing to rub himself with an open palm.

I stare at him, open-mouthed, watching as his eyes close just briefly, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, mouth dropping open almost imperceptibly before his eyes snap back open and he looks at me, whispering, "What are you waiting for, Kahne? An engraved invitation?"

Maybe. Maybe that's exactly what I'm waiting for. I unbutton and unzip my jeans slowly, and let them slide from my hips down to the floor. He smiles, and chuckles softly, and for a moment I don't understand why.

"Slut," he laughs, staring at me as I look down, realizing what he means.

"Shit. I so need to do laundry," I mutter as I kick my jeans to the side. I figure there's no living this down, so I walk slowly to the bed and slide in, maintaining about a foot of space between us. He laughs, then grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him, so that there's no space between us and our shoulders are touching.

"I won't bite," he says, and gives me a mischievous grin. "You know, unless you want me to." The thought of him biting me, of me wanting him to bite me, sets off another round of redness and stammering.

"I... um... well... I...." I stutter, unsure how to respond. He just laughs and rests a hand on my leg, right above my knee.

"Relax, Kahne," he says, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on my skin. It's not having the desired effect, though. It's making it more difficult to relax.

"I... I.... y-yeah..." I say, trying to tell him that relaxing is going to be impossible, until I feel his lips press against my jaw and he gently kisses me. I go silent at that.

"Relax," he says again, as I turn my head to look at him and he moves his lips, pressing them softly to mine in a very tender kiss. "Relax," he whispers against my lips.

And so I do.

I let myself relax, let myself sink down into the pillow, and I let him kiss me. I let him pick up from where we left off in the car, his tongue exploring my mouth, his hand slowly tracing over my chest, fingers tracing over each rib and each muscle. It's tempting to touch him back, but I'm really not sure what I'm supposed to be doing here, where my hands should go. And as I'm trying to figure that out, one of his hands closes over mine and moves it to the growing fabric-covered bulge in his lap. Oh. Guess that's where my hand should be, then.

I'm still not really sure what I should be doing, so I just do what I know I would like, and I start to rub him gently with the palm of my hand. He pulls away from kissing me, and moans softly, his hips bucking ever so slightly. Guess I'm doing it right. He leans in and kisses me again, and this time it's not so gentle. This time, it's hard, passionate, demanding. And his tongue isn't the only thing that's being demanding, I think to myself as I feel his fingers wrap around my dick and he starts to stroke me roughly. I gasp, then blurt out his name, and then, as his thumb brushes over the head of my cock, I throw my head back and moan, long and low. I feel teeth nip my neck gently, grazing against my carotid artery. "Relax...." he whispers against my skin, and I wonder if he realizes just how impossible that is when he's touching me the way he is, and making me feel the things I'm feeling right now.

He keeps stroking me, keeps varying the speed, keeps touching me in different little spots, keeps doing something just a little bit different with his wrist, until I'm begging. Begging quietly, but definitely begging.

"Hamlin...." I start, and he rubs his pinkie finger against my balls. I nearly come up off the bed it feels so good, and that makes him chuckle, which in turn makes me squeeze my hand around him, making his laughter turn into a moan that rivals mine. "Denny...." I try again. "I... I want..." I stop, because I'm not really sure what it is I want. More than this. I definitely want more than this. He doesn't say anything, just kisses me again, and he's back to being gentle. He eases himself out of bed, faced away from me, and pushes down his boxer-briefs. Let it be known that Denny Hamlin has a very nice ass. His ass and upper thighs are a few shades lighter than the rest of him, and I feel privileged to have this information. As much as he may act like a player, as much as people may talk, I know he's only been with one other person recently.

Come to think of that, where is she tonight? I start to ask about her, but he's digging in the drawer of the bedside table, and it distracts me. He pulls out a tube that's a little smaller than your usual thing of toothpaste, and I'm about to ask if he's that big into dental hygiene, but before I get the chance, he settles back into bed beside me. He holds the tube up, a small smile on his face, and I realize what it is, I'm just really confused about why he's keeping it handy. I raise my eyebrows, look from the tube to him, and he laughs quietly.

He flips the top on the tube, squirts some of the liquid in his hands, and starts to rub them together, presumably warming it up with his body heat. "Jordan's... a really interesting girl," he says quietly, as he takes his cock in his hand and strokes it, coating it with lube. "Really interesting."

"Oh?" I ask, wondering just where this is going.

"Yeah," he says, his smile growing as he drops his hand between my legs, and his fingers search out virgin territory. He rubs gently, and I jump as his finger makes contact with my asshole. "She's into things... well, let's just say she wants things that usually require a lot of convincing with most girls." His finger slides into me, just the tip, just barely, and it's different. Different, but not bad. He stares at me intently for a few moments before easing his finger in further, and starts moving it in a very slow circle. "Things like this... she likes having my fingers up her ass, Kase. Begged me to do it the first time. And I do mean begged."

I moan softly at the mental image of Hamlin's girlfriend on her knees, begging him to put his long fingers inside of her. He slides a second finger inside of me, starts to scissor them, and I'm pretty sure I can understand why she begged him to do this. Hell, I'm pretty sure that if he didn't already have me on my back with his fingers in me, I'd be on my knees begging for this, too.

"Know what she really likes, Kahne?" he asks, that mischievous look back in his eyes. I'm pretty sure I know what it is, but I want to hear him say it, so I shake my head slowly. He grins a huge shit-eating grin at me, pulls his fingers out, and nearly simultaneously positions his dick against me. "She loves it when I shove my big, hard dick into her tight little ass."

And with that, he does the same to me. I scream as he pushes in; I scream loudly, loud enough that Coach Gibbs probably hears us next door. It hurts; even with the lube, it hurts a lot. I fight back tears as he stops moving and just holds still inside me. His eyes are wide as he looks down at me, and a look passes across his face; surprise, shock, maybe a little bit of shame. "I... I thought you'd done this before!" he says, and he looks like he wishes he could take it all back. I shake my head, and focus on relaxing every part of my body that just tensed up in a knot. "Aww, fuck, Kahne. I... I didn't know..."

I shake my head again, finally starting to adjust to the feeling of him being inside of me. "Don't... don't worry about it." I move against him, just a tiny bit, and manage the smallest of smiles. "And... don't stop."

He looks at me like I'm crazy, but he doesn't stop. He starts moving again, slowly, and now it doesn't hurt anymore; now it's starting to feel good. In fact, as he starts to speed up, he's hitting something with every thrust that feels better than anything I've ever felt before. Somewhere along the line I start moaning his name, and he starts moaning mine, and it's no longer Hamlin and Kahne, but Denny and Kasey, and before I know it, he's calling my name out and thrusting hard before he collapses on top of me, and I feel something warm and wet and sticky on my stomach. Apparently he feels it too, because after a few minutes of just laying on top of me he rolls to the side, his shoulders shaking gently from laughter.

"What's so funny?" I ask, looking over at him. He doesn't seem a bit bothered by what we just did, and if I'm honest with myself, I'm not either.

"I made you cum without even touching your dick," he says, still laughing a little as he points at the stickiness on my stomach.

"Yeah, well..." I trail off, because really, what can I say to that?

He yawns, then looks over at me and smiles. "Kahne? Relax. Get some sleep." He rolls over on his back and closes his eyes, and in less than five minutes, he's asleep. I roll over on my side, faced away from him, and try to do the same.

When I wake in the morning, the bed is empty, but there's a note laying beside me.

_Hope you enjoyed it as much as I always do! ♥, J._


End file.
